


the hard part always seems to last forever

by trashyeggroll



Category: Black Lightning (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/F, Mildly Dubious Consent, PWP, Quickies, Rough Sex, Smut, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 08:42:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18495403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashyeggroll/pseuds/trashyeggroll
Summary: "Anissa hasn’t done this in awhile. The woman moving under her doesn’t seem to notice."





	the hard part always seems to last forever

**Author's Note:**

> ** spoiler for Mildly Dubious Consent tag **  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> Requires overlooking that Grace has not yet been provided with a route to get better at her shapeshifting.

Anissa hasn’t done this in awhile.

The woman moving under her doesn’t seem to notice.

She’s been barely able to drive past the Ruby Red lately, much less find parking and flash her ID to the overly attentive bouncer. But she needed someone to be with her tonight, someone who wasn’t a member of her increasingly fractured family. Not even a friend.

What she needs is this, harsh kisses and blunt fingernails scratching across her back. Anissa lets skin that stops bullets go soft, lets the pain of each groove sear across her nerves as she sucks a purple mark into olive skin.

The woman has a name, and Anissa knows on better days, she’ll feel guilty for forgetting it just as soon as she learned it. She's pretty, with dark brown eyes and darker hair. It’d taken no less than a few minutes of making eyes and small talk before they were gasping into each other’s mouths and grabbing at clothing in the smoker’s area outside, rain trickling onto their clothes from the pitched, hole-addled metal roofing. Anissa isn’t sure how they made it back to her apartment.

With her face pressed tightly against the woman’s neck, eyes screwed shut, she can almost imagine that it’s not some stranger arching against her chest as she drives into her, thumb swiping over her clit with each pass. And when the smiling face in her mind’s eye becomes too much to bear, and she opens hers, the mess of black hair, golden skin, and dusky brown nipples make her head swim and her throat tighten.

It’s the day she met Grace in the bookstore, what seems like decades ago now. Grace would hate it if she called that an anniversary. Anissa would call it that anyway, if Grace were here.

But she’s not—hasn’t been for months now. No texts, Snaps, DMs, emails, not even a cryptic letter. Grace is gone.

The thoughts make her body seize, and the stranger in her bed whimpers in protest when her arm slows to a stop. She shifts to one elbow, withdrawing three sticky-wet fingers, and the woman grasps for her wrist. Anissa shakes off the grip easily, eyes narrowing as she considers the woman. Her chest is heaving, and Anissa almost regrets the darker marks she’s left on her neck and breasts.

“Something wrong?” asks the stranger, breathless, perhaps a little annoyed.

For once, Anissa isn’t in the mood for talking. She takes hold of the woman’s hips, using more than a reasonable amount of strength to flip her quickly onto her stomach. The stranger gets the message immediately, shuffling her knees up the bed so that she’s ass in the air, face pressed into the pillows.

Like this, Anissa’s mind has an easier time with it. She slips her fingers down purple-brown lips, puffy and petaled open from her previous efforts. Even in the dimness of the street lights outside her bedroom, Anissa can see arousal glistening on the woman’s lips and soft inner thighs, and when she dips two fingers back between those folds, they’re immediately enveloped in silky wetness. She ducks her head, then lifts it back up. This woman doesn’t smell like Grace, and Anissa knows she won’t taste like her, either.

So she skips extracurriculars, hooking one arm under the woman’s hips to tilt her just right. Anissa’s other hand presses three fingers back into her, and she can’t help but the groan of appreciation for the feel of hot velvet pulsing around her. Muffled by the bedding, the woman lets out a whine, and she tries to rock her hips back to take more, but Anissa’s meta-strength is unyielding.

Her eyes slip shut, and like this, without the distraction of unfamiliar moans and gasps, it’s _almost_ perfect. She can _almost_ believe it’s Grace clenching around her fingers as she picks up a steady pace, gliding in and out with obscene, soft sucking sounds. She can fill her head with the memory of how Grace would keen and whimper into the pillows when they did this, when Anissa was driving into her with endless strength. Her arm pumps faster and it’s almost like Grace goes limp below her with a ragged shout, and Anissa drags her arm free to shove a hand between her legs.

Her fingers fumble and slip against her swollen, straining clit, but it’s the closest she’s been to getting off in weeks, and the pressure in her belly is so tight that she’s worried she’ll blow a hole in the ceiling when she comes. Because she’s going to come. The universe owes her that much.

“ _Harder,”_ groans the stranger, and for some reason, Anissa doesn’t even have to try to hear Grace’s voice slip from her lips.

Anissa knows she’s already slamming her knuckles into the woman with a human’s full strength. She tilts her head, keeps up the pace: “You sure about that?”

 _“Please.”_ The hoarse, single word doesn’t even try to be anything other than _begging._ Anissa can hear it in the way it peaks to a wail, then cuts off completely when she adds a fourth finger, wondering if the woman could take her whole hand right now. It would be an impressive first night’s showing.

Anissa files that thought away too as her own body gives a needy throb. It’s difficult while she’s so close, to focus on increasing her strength bit by bit, until the muffled shouts into the pillow completely devolve into nonsense. It stops the aching pleasure in her core from spilling over the edge, but Anissa would do anything for Grace.

Her eyes roll back as she sees Grace turn her head, tears and drool wetting her face. Grace is chanting, _“yesyesyes_ ” into the bedding while Anissa sets a brutal pace, thrusting to the widest part of her knuckles before dragging back, curling her fingers along the spongey, convulsing flesh of her front wall. Wetness is dripping down to her wrist and towards her elbow, the force of her thrusts splattering drops over the sheets below, and that’s it for Thunder.

Anissa comes like her alter ego, shouting her release to the ceiling as her clit pulses against her own fingers, body clenching around nothing. Scorching heat, and then cleansing cold suffuses her limbs, and her vision is nearly eclipsed by black. It’s all she can do to avoid blasting a sonic hole in the wall. As she starts to drift back down, her other arm is still moving, slower now, the woman’s body clenched tight around her fingers as she rides out her orgasm, which Anissa is a little ashamed to admit she missed.

The air’s thick with the musky smell of sex, and Anissa suddenly feels overheated, her skin crawling where she’s slumped over the gasping stranger. The meta puts on hand on the small of the woman’s back and withdraws the other slowly, wincing in sympathy at the wheezing gasps from the pillows.

As the woman practically melts against the mattress with a long, low sigh, the guilt is already setting in. Anissa needed a distraction before, but she needs to be alone now.

Given how hard she’d just fucked her, Anissa patiently gives her the time she needs to recover. The room is quiet, except for the occasional noise from neighbors or cars on the street outside. Anissa moves to the edge of the bed and uses a towel tossed on the floor that morning to wipe sweat and come from her body, then pulls on a pair of soft sweatpants and an oversized shirt. When she turns back, the woman is sluggishly getting to her feet, facing away from her. She helps gather some pieces of clothing that had made their way across the room, and then goes to the bathroom to wash her face and hands as the stranger gets dressed.

They don’t exchange another word before the woman is walking out the door, Anissa locking it behind her. There’s no kiss goodnight.

After considering her rumpled and come-stained bed over a glass of water, Anissa decides to sleep on the couch again tonight.

 

* * *

 

Grace makes it all the way to her latest safehouse before shifting back to herself and falling apart on the floor of the entryway. Weeks of practicing her powers had led up to this. Hours spent picking a form that was close _enough_ to her own true skin. Close enough that with a little push, Anissa wouldn’t be able to resist.

Sniffling and holding back sobs, she curls on her side where she fell, pulling her legs up to her chest and feeling the copious evidence of what she’d done between her legs and down her thighs, still seeping into her underwear and jeans.

It was the anniversary of the day Anissa checking her out at the bookstore led to the closest relationship she’d ever had, with anyone. Call it stupid, or cowardly, or wrong, but the thought of bearing this day alone had been too much.

She hadn’t quite gotten what she wanted out of the occasion and might never get over the haunted look in her ex lover’s eyes. But Anissa’s scent still lingered on her skin, and for now, that was as close as she could get.

**Author's Note:**

> talk to me on tumblr, i'm in my feels about ThunderGrace [@trashyeggroll](https://trashyeggroll.tumblr.com/)


End file.
